May You Always be Courageous
by BlackHairdye.SilverFindings
Summary: The King of Gondor's daughter has just come of age and, Robb Stark Son of Borimir, the son of one of King Aragorn's oldest friends, has come to seek her hand, bringing along his bastard brother, a man who never thought he'd catch the eye of a princess. But jealousy and evil plots fester in the darkest of sins, even if they wear gold for hair.
1. King of the Streets, Child of Pain

**A/N:** So, you've decided to try and attempt to read another one of my crazy crossovers. I just couldn't get this one out of my head, so, I tried to get in on to, well not paper because it's not on paper... But anyways, this was inspired slightly by the Brave trailer, and y'know, history. Marriage was a business deal back then. All I can say is that i hope my princesses don't have too much of a rebel princess syndrome, and that I've blended the worlds well. I actually have a thought out plot, so hopefully this will actually get finished and not just sit about molding away. I thought about including Theon in this as well, but i hate that Squid Boy so I didn't.

Oh, and it's pretty AU, but Bran's still cripple mainly just cause I love Osha, and the Starks still have direwolves.

Oh also, my timeline is severely FUCKED UP. So don't look at it too closely please, lets just pretend it's okay and go on about our needle work okay? Okay.

**Warnings:**

Sex, I mean it's Game of Thrones, how can you _not _have sex?

Language, again, it's Game of Thrones...

There might possibly be some Gay Sex later on

Robb/OC and Jon/OC

There will defiantly be some suggested Leggy/Aragorn.

And I kinda made Arwen a BITCH. Sorry 'bout that.

There's also ALOT of OCs, we have a ton of OC Princes and Princesses, and I hope none of them are too Mary Sue, or Mary Sue at all.

And some silliness. Be forewarned.

All I can say is good luck, and may the road rise up to meet you, Hero.

**May You Always be Courageous, Stand Up Right and be Strong.**

**May You Have a Strong Foundation, When the Winds of Changes Shift.**

**Chapter 1: King of the Streets, Child of Pain. **

**Jon.**

Jon had never been to a city so grand before. He'd lived with his father in the great halls of his estate, but he'd never set foot in the Great City. When his father was called of to war by the steward, his grandfather, Jon had cried, he'd begged his father not to go, not to leave him here alone, to take him with him. He'd cried and his father had just smiled before kissing his upon the brow and leaving Jon in the hands of his the Lady of the house, a woman who'd never loved Jon and never claimed him as a son of hers. Lady Catelyn was not maliciously unkind to Jon, she just choose to ignore the boy most times, a boy of eleven left to a woman who thought him nothing better then a wound in her honor, a thorn in her side.

No, Catelyn would have happily thrown him out into the streets when she heard of her husband's death at the hands of what some said were a hundred Orc arrows. But it was a boy of the same age as Jon that saved him. His half brother, Robb, was the one that stepped in-between him and the cold alleys. Jon was never sure exactly what his brother had told Catelyn, he'd never had the gaul to ask, but what ever words were exchanged, Jon was incredibly grateful to his half brother, even if the years until manhood were spent in the kitchens and out of sight from any noble visitors and especially the Lady of the house. From that moment on Jon vowed to do something for Robb one day that would repay that kindness. Jon loved Robb, in a way that not many boys understand.

But now, after years of cutting potatoes and working in the soot of the blacksmiths, Jon was finally going to see the Great City of Minus Tirith. He'd heard the stories, great white walls a hundred times tall, the blue of the banners whipping in the winds, festivals where the king himself would climb down from his great throne to smile heartily at the his peasants, as if they were blood of his blood. Jon had heard wonderful stories about the Great City, of how it was the finest city in all Middle Earth, of the fine summerwines and ales, of the girls with loose morals, and of the Kingsguard, a legendary force of men sworn to protect and love their King and no one else.

He traveled along side his brother to the wondrous marvels of the Great City for one reason. The princess. Robb had just had his 18th name-day, and Jon was close behind, but the princess of all of Gondor would soon have her coming out parade, the streets would be live with music and she would be eligible to marry any noble man he father saw fit. Robb Son of Borimir, one of many ambitious boys out to win the King's heart, because no matter how one put it, all the young boys flocking to the Great City, weren't there to win the heart of the princess, they were there to win the heart and eyes of the King.


	2. When Your Head Gets Twisted

**Chapter 2: When Your Head Gets Twisted and Your Mind Goes Numb, When You Think You're Too Old, Too Young, Too Smart or Too Dumb.**

**Lindânâ**

She could hear the courtiers and the musicians from the court downstairs when she struggled out of bed. Cursing the Gods, she groaned as her Septa threw open the curtains of her room, letting the sun exact it's revenge on her eyes, as it illuminated the tapestries and furs of her tower room in the harsh morning lights.

"Seeepta." She complained covering her face in a pillow "Gods be gone, remove yourself from my damned room!"

Septa rolled her tired faded eyes and pulled back the covers of her princess's bedding, throwing the thin sheets and heavy furs to the ground. "Dearly me, up you get princess," She said making her weaving way toward the wardrobe "It's the start of your name-day week, Gods permitting soon you'll be a fine Queen to a finer King." Back on the other side of the room, the princess growled and struggled her way out of the furs and toward her vanity where she dropped herself into the chair.

Septa Morgan hobbled over to her, her soft green dress swishing across the herb covered floor. "There's a pretty girl." she said taking a silver backed brush from the table, and beginning to calm the storm of ink hair that surrounded the princess's head this morning. The princess let out an exasperated sigh, blowing some of her bangs out of her face as the tangles were slowly worked out and oiled with rich oil that spelled of the sea.

"You look much like your mother, dear lady." Septa Morgan told her as she started to part her princess's thick locks, "Boys from all around are flocking to the city to do as much as behold the beauty of their princess. They say Prince Joffery of Hyarmen is here. I even heard that Prince Æsc of Rohan is on his way with 50 horses just for you."

"I do not need 50 horses." The princess said as Septa began tying ribbons around her thick braids, her old knuckles the only ones that could preform such a task so well. the princess was suddenly reminded of just how old her Septa was. "I do not _want _50 horses. The Horse Lords can keep their beasts. I want a prince who can treat me like a person, not a prize to be won." she finished her long, thin fingers gliding over the cover to one of her books, it's leather was scarred and old, it's pages crumbling.

As Septa Morgan crossed to her wardrobe, the princess pulled her light silk night gown from her pale body and threw it over the post of her bed before seating herself once again at the vanity, pulling a pot of black kohl toward her. She was careful to smear the power on her eyelids, and just under her lower lashes. She wore the heavy makeup not to rebel or to make some sort of statement, but to cut the sun glare off the pearly white tiers of the city.

Her Septa helped her into the base layer of clothing, thin silks and a corset laced just tightly enough that it pushed her breasts up, and exposed her given hourglass shape. She watched herself in the mirror as she pulled on the green under dress, and was not surprised of how much she did look like her elfin mother. Long black hair, blemish free skin, a perfect bow to her lips. But her eyes, they were her father's, unmoving and daunting. Harsh and so full of kindness. She remembered when her brother's cat caught a baby bird and her father has taken the bird with careful hands and allowed her to nurse it back to heath. She'd done well but the bird had died anyway. She'd cried and stained her father's good tunic.

As she loosened the laces of her sleeves a knock resounded from the heavy door, and her Septa crossed to pull the door open a sliver and then farther, letting the princess's mother into the room, a low bow bending her already bowed back. The princess did not flinch as her mother swept into the room, her sharp silver eyes sweeping the tossed bedding and piles of velvet and satin the dress her daughter had worn last night were reduced too.

She crossed and pulled up a purple gown from the floor "You should be more careful. You do not want to tear this." She said as her daughter ran a hand through her bangs, straightening them. "Lindânâ," she said putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Mother." Lindânâ replied as she reached for the red dress she was to wear today. her mother helped her into the heavy fabric, fixing the wrinkles and admiring her daughter in the mirror. Lindânâ would never, _never _surpass her mother in beauty, she thought as she gazed upon her mother in a soft gold dress, she looks like an angel, Lindânâ concluded, before turning back to her own reflection.

"You'll be good today." Her mother said as Lindânâ lifted her arms so she could wrap a waist cincer of gold silk around her. Her mother began tightening it in the back, pulling it fitted and tight. "There will be many people watching. Princes and Kings and your father."

"Father is always watching." Lindânâ said as her mother pulled at the large sleeves of her dress, straightening them. "Thank you." She said turning from the polished mirror toward her jewelry chest. Her mother made an unhappy noise as Lindânâ took silver bracelets from the box and slid them over her hands.

"This is important." Her mother insisted, Septa Morgan watching from the corner.

Lindânâ turned on her mother, her sudden anger roiling in her eyes "I know mother! This is my life we are speaking off, if you remembered. These men are here to take me away, to have me so i can bare them many children, and so they can show all their lords that they had the honor in winning the great princess of Gondor! I think I understand how important this is!" And with that she stormed from the room, stopping only to grab the slippers waiting for her at the door.


	3. Skin, Pale as the Light of the Moon

**Chapter 3: Skin, Pale as the Light of the Moon. Heart, Burning Like Fire in the Night**

**Jon.**

The Great City was anything but a disappointment, the white stone was as white as the stories told, and festivities and revels were wide and far, people just seemed in a good mood on the eve of their Princess's wedding. Jon was throughly excited as Robb and his horses passed through the great gates, and he could hear the excitement rush past Arya and Bran's parted lips. He smiled at them. He was too old, too mature to show such excitement in such a childish way, but he was happy they did not care of what other people thought of them. The company spurred their horses up, through the throng of revelers, toward the great palace at the top tier. Jon hadn't smiled this much in years, or ever really, he was bastard, he wasn't allowed to be happy.

At each corner there were musicians and magicians, playing fast tunes and performing novelties that had young children fascinated. There were groups of people dancing all around, fast jiggs, and slow waltzes, and dances Jon didn't know. As they made their way, he watched as children begun following them, a Prince seated high was a sight to be seen in any town. Of course, Robb wasn't exactly a Prince, but he still had the right to the princess's hand.

The courtyard of the top tier was yet another sight, it's great white tree was in full bloom, it's mirror reflected in the pool beside it. Jon wondered if it were a weirwood like back home but eliminated that thought as a troop of men crossed toward them. It was lead by a tall thin man, with a head of spun copper for hair. He smiled faintly and Jon was reminded unhappily of his father. The man stood before them, his head meeting Robb's, and his inblazen breast shinning with the white tree upon in.

"Welcome." He said "You're here for the princess's tourney correct?"

Robb nodded "I am. My name is Robb Stark, Son of Boromir, these are my brothers Jon and Bran, and our sisters Arya and Sansa, and Osha a companion to Bran." The man's smile faded.

"I thought you looked familar." He said "Especially you. You look just like him." He pointed at Jon "It is my honor to welcome you to Gondor, my children, and it is an even greater honor, because you are family. My name is Faramir, son of Denathor, brother to Boromir, and steward of Gondor."

Robb's astonishment was plain of his face and on the face's of his family. "Mother never said..."

"Catelyn never thought me worth of the title, I believe." Faramir said and then laughed "No one did I think. But come now, there will be time to catch up on family affairs after you've met your King." and he led the group into the throne room, a hall of grandeur, the marble statutes of long dead kings staring blank eyed down at the group, Bran was the tallest, seated high upon Osha's shoulders.

It was easy to spot the King, he was seated high on his fine throne, smiling as a boy with sheets of gold for hair told him something for only the king's ears. He was tall and lean still, the King from the stories of Pelenor Fields, and Helms Deep. His dark beard glistened and his eyes twinkled under his dark brow. He was the King of Men, as he should have been. The King was everything Jon thought a King should be, tall and strong and dark and kind and frightening.

"Your Grace!" Faramir exclaimed, as the music died to a low hum from the other side of the room. "May I present the eldest son of Boromir, Robb." A sudden hush fell over the court as the King as his golden hair companion descended from the throne, to stand before the group. Robb knelt, his brothers following his example, Osha almost toppling from the top-heaviness of Bran.

"Raise." The King said "Robb Stark son of Boromir. I knew your father, and he was a dear friend of mine, a man of honor and strength. I am pleased that you traveled this far to compete for my daughter's hand. You shall be treated as a brother here, for that was what Boromir was to me. Tonight we are hosting a great dinner for all the tourny member," Grey Wind wagged his tail expectantly and barked lightly nosing the King's hand at the mention of dinner. "Ah, what have you brought with you? Direwolves? I heard they were all but extinct."

"They were, or are..." Robb faltered and Jon stepped up for him.

"We found a litter in the woods a time ago," He told the King "We hope it's alright that we've brought them here, they are the sigil of our house, and Lady Catelyn would not have them at home, your Grace."

The king laughed heartily and nodded "So long as they behave themselves! Come! Show these brave souls to their rooms! I'm sure you wish to wash the road off, am I right?"

"Of course, my liege," Robb said bowing again before they was swept from the room, toward warm beds and a change of cloths.

...

Jon's room back home was a meager cupboard compared to the stately room he was given in the Great City. The best part about the room was that he had his own chamberpot and the room was all his. No brothers to share it with, or snoring old grandmothers. Jon thought that this was very near to heaven.

He washed himself with cool water from a pitcher and changed from the boiled leather and wools of riding cloths to softer fabrics of court clothing. A tight olive green shirts under a long darker green tunic with slits in the sides and dark pants tucked into boots that used to be Robb's. In fact the whole outfit used to be Robb's, but his brother had given it to him, saying that he was in need of some 'courtly' clothing, not the rags of a bastard.

He'd taken in lightly, promising to pay Robb back, while Robb brushed it off and thrown an arm around Jon's shoulders.

Jon looked at himself in the mirror and noted he needed to shave, but he wasn't the one trying to win the heart of the King. And Robb hadn't shaved either. He said it made him look older, more mature. Jon scoffed at that. The green fabric that clung tightly to his arms and waist, made him look older, and more... royal. It made him look like a proper son, not some bastard without a mother. Jon made a face at himself and stormed out the door, throwing himself into the hallway. He hated himself in that moment, a pretender, playing on his dead father's honor, a twisted boy in love with his own brother.

"Ho boy!" Someone called from down the hall and Jon looked up a blush covering his cheeks, as he observed a Man walking toward him. The Man, was little older then he was, and he was dressed in the reds and bronzes of Rohan, a Horse Lord. He had straight dark honey hair that curled up and in slightly at the bottom, his cheeks dusted with an amount of stubble.

"You alright?" He asked Jon, a friendly smile playing on his lips, his light eyes grinning it seemed. Jon nodded and fixed an imaginary wrinkle in his jerkin. "Æsc," The man said holding out a calloused riding hand, and it took Jon a moment to understand that was the man's name. "Son of Eomer"

"Jon," He said finally taking the riders hand "Son of Boromir." Æsc smiled and nodded.

"Yes, your brother is here for the hand of Princess Lindânâ, correct?" Æsc asked as the pair set off down the stone hall. Jon nodded and the Prince smiled again "Then I offer him the best of luck, as far as I have seen, he is one of the only men here that might offer me a challenge."

"More then a challenge I fear my good lord," Jon said "My brother is prepared to win the princess's hand. I offer you my condolences in advance."

That made the Horse Lord laugh and soon Jon was smiling along with the boy. "Well, if i had to lose to one man it would surly be your brother. But what of you? You look like a good rider, and a strong arm. Are you not also competing for the princess?"

Jon shook his head sadly "No, i do not hold the right title to fight in the tourny for her hand. My brother will be the one to bring our house honor."

"Have you seen the princess?" Æsc asked "You will not be saying that you wish to just sit on the sidelines once you see her. She is as beautiful as the cherry trees in spring, as new fallen snow, as... If she were kidnapped, her face alone would launch a thousand ships."

Jon's brow furrowed "Isn't that a myth?" He asked and Æsc looked confused with him.

"No I don't think so." The pair shrugged the matter off as the loud click of nails on the stone announced the arrival of Arya her wolf Nymeria.

"Jon!" she exclaimed "This place is _AMAZING!_ Have you seen the dungoens? They're HUGE! and the kitchens! and did you see all the people in the city? They all look for happy!"

Jon laughed as she went on explaining the wonders of the Great City, with lots of hand motions while Nymeria tried to get Ghost to play with her, nosing at him and jumping around. Ghost just slunk closer to his master.

"You've been all over the castle in the span of a few moments sister!" He said "And you haven't cleaned yourself up for the feast tonight. Lady Catelyn would be very upset."

Arya glared "You haven't shaved! Mother would have your head for that!"

"She would have my head for living." Jon corrected her. "Off, put on those nice clothing you packed. The dress you packed." Arya made a disgruntled noise but turned on her heel and stocked off toward her room.

Prince Æsc's laughter subsided, and he smiled after Arya's retreating form. "She's a wild one she is." He said and Jon nodded smiling. "Looks like you too."

"We look like our father," Jon said."That's what every one says anyway."

Æsc smiled "Then I shall believe it. I never had to pleasure to meet the legend that was your father, but they say he was something."

Jon smiled saddly "That's what I've heard."

A/N: Wow, look at that, ya'lls are still with us. Damned be the Gods. All I can say is thank you, and please, read and review. I'm curious how many of you are read and enjoying this!


	4. Sung to the Moon by a Love Lorn Loon

A/N: Alright. Finally finished this chapter. Hopefully it shows a little more of our Princess's character. And Robb's for that matter. I've left a couple place holders in for fun. because it really doesn't matter who Prince FaceDude is or where he's from. He's just here for our laughter. I made Eldarion a little wild and silly. I enjoy his character though.

I'd also like the leave a note that this is not Westeros, its Middle Earth. The storylines with intersect at parts, but sometimes the GoT line might shine brighter then the LotR line. And so on. Also. We're technically still in the exposé of the story, the plot hasn't even really be set out yet. So just hang in there.

I want to dedicate this chapter to _StrawberriCat _cause they have showed interest in the story which spurred me enough to finish the new chapter.

So, enjoy.

**Chapter 4: It Is Sung to the Moon by a Love Lorn Loon, Who Fled From the Mocking Throng. It's a Song of a Merry Maid, Made Purely Proud, Who Loved a Lord and Who Laughed Aloud.**

**Lindânâ.**

The Grand Hall was abuzz with activity as the courtiers and nobles mingled about, all waiting their turn to present the princess and her father with words of thanks and flattery. Lindânâ watched from her high seat as the boys just kept pouring in, old men, younglings barely of age, brave soldiers and knights. Any man of highbirth.

"Sit up straight." He father said as a boy from the East walked away, his head slightly hung.

"I don't _want _to sit up straight." She whined but sat up anyway smiling as the next boy mounted the steps. Even if it was her life they were sealing off to the highest bidder, it was still fun to sit and drink and watch Princes humiliate themselves. Her younger sister Elil did not seem to think it was so fun. She was sitting with her arms crossed a deep frown on her face.

"Smile, honey." Their mother said a sharp point to her elf eyes.

"I don't _feel _like smiling." Elil said

Father turned toward her and smirked "You're royalty, fake it." Lindânâ's twin brother Eldarion laughed loudly, slipping summerwine on the floor. Their mother glared.

"Restrain yourself Eldarion." She hissed and Lindânâ stuck her royal tongue out at the boy she'd shared a womb with, before turning back and seeing the boy standing before her. He was young, barley 18, a high collar around his pale neck.

"Good evening, Yo-o-our Grace." He stuttered and Lindânâ wondered if it was real or if he was just scared. She felt bad for him all the same. She could see the boy's father standing off the side, glaring, and she knew that this would end badly for the boy.

"And what is your name, boy?" Aragorn asked kindly.

"[name], Son of [name]. From [place]. My K-k-king." He said nervously before going on "If y-y-you choose me t-t-to have your daughter's hand, mi L-l-lord, it would honor m-m-my...well my honor!" Lindânâ's eyes went wide and suppressed a laugh as she found a hidden meaning in the words and her brother giggled again.

The boy blushed as he reheard what he had said and stuttered trying to find words to fix his mistake. Aragorn smiled kindly again and dismissed the boy who retreated to his father with a look worthy of his sentence.

"Poor boy." Lindânâ murmured feeling guilty for his mistake. Their party would leave tonight, she knew, not wanting to offend the King any farther. The boy would be punished.

He brother seemed to sense her discomfort handed her his goblet. "He'll be fine, he'll go back to [place] and find some milk maid whom he loves more then a forced marriage to my beautiful sister."

Lindânâ rolled her eyes. Eldarion was the spitting image of their father, same dark hair and challenging eyes, they shared their mother's beauty, making him look young and girly, elfin features on a Man's body.

The next boy to stand in front of her was a man named Renly Baratheon, Son of Steffon from the South, and his brother Stannis Baratheon was next. Where Renly was kind and gentle, he'd even kissed her hand, Stannis was brooding and harsh. He hadn't even glanced at her when he'd mounted the steps. She could see her father's distaste of the man.

"You know who they are right?" her brother whispered. "They're Stags, like the King of the South, Robert. They're his brothers. I heard his son Joffery is here to ask for your hand."

Lindânâ rolled her eyes at him, she'd met Prince Joffery once before. It was a few years ago, when she was young, at a party her father had hosted for her eldest sister's wedding. Robert Baratheon had come from Hyarmen to drink the fine elf-wine they'd served and the young Lindânâ and Joffery were sat together because of the closeness of their ages. Joffery had pulled Lindânâ's hair and taken her sweetbread and then denied it when she told her father. Her father and Joffery's mother had gotten into an argument, in which it had been decided that Lindânâ was obviously a lying thief, or that's was Cersi Lannister Baratheon said. Her father was disgruntled at the family for the rest of their stay.

"I hope he doesn't show up. He's not even of age." Lindânâ whispered to her brother "I hate that boy. He's awful. And all girly."

"Hey." Eldarion glared and Lindânâ smirked back. "Tyrell was 'girly'."

"No. He was gay." She said with a superior look. "There's a difference, I'll have you know."

Eldarion snorted and raised his eyebrows "Right. And how would you know? He's the best in the joust in all the Kingdoms of Man."

"That doesn't make him straight."

"Lindânâ!" Mother scolded and the princess turned to see that an other suitor had approached them. Lindânâ smiled apologetically at the boy. He was tall, with wide strong shoulders. Auburn curls framed his strong jaw, and light eyes.

He knelt like all the others and upon standing said "My King, Robb Stark Son of Borimir." He looked nervous, Lindânâ could tell. She could also tell that her father liked the boy very much.

"_Mae govannen,_ Robb Stark." Father said nodded "And what have you brought my daughter?" Robb swallowed hard and brought out a small rectangle wrapped in cloth.

"I have brought this." He said pulling the satin back to reveal a leather bound book. "I…. My family is not as wealthy as some of the other suitors here, and I heard tell of your love for books." He wasn't addressing Aragorn anymore, but Lindânâ herself. "I thought maybe, you would like it better then, forty gold piece or a fleet of ships. Although it is less useful in wartime then ships."

Lindânâ smiled all the same and clutched the book to her breast. "Thank you, Robb Stark of Winterfell." She was well learned on where the important families were from. Borimir's old holdfast was an important place on the map, her Father said. And to rule one must understand where and how one's Lords live. Lindânâ glanced over at her mother who was giving her a look along the lines of 'dismiss the boy now.' But Lindânâ did not feel like dismissing Robb Stark just yet.

"Thank you. I am tired of sitting. Robb Stark, would you honor me with a dance?" Lindânâ asked. Robb seemed at a loss for words and he looked over to where the rest of his party sat for help. There was a boy there, tall like Robb, and probably of the same age and in an instant Lindânâ could tell that they were brothers.

"I'm sorry, my Princess." Robb said after making a few gapping faces like a drowning fish. "It would not be appropriate." Robb looked behind Lindânâ, and she turned to see her mother smiling approvingly.

Lindânâ set her jaw in that moment and stood, pushing back her chair with a loud noise. "That is quiet alright Robb Stark." She said looking back at the boy Robb had looked to. "You," She said pointing to him, "Will you dance with me?"


	5. A Set Dance

**Chapter 5: A Set Dance.**

**Jon.**

It was a wondrous party. There were musicians and servants and summerwine and mead and delicious slabs of meat that melted in his mouth and _girls_, plenty of girls. Jon and Robb sat with the rest of their family among some of the other suitors. There was a blond smiling boy who's face could have melted ice, a skinny lad with bright red curls for hair, The Rohan boy Æsc, and a fat boy who looked so nervous that Jon gave him his glass of summerwine.

"Thanks." The boy said "I'm Samwell by the way."

"Jon. Jon Snow." Jon said shaking the boys hand as Robb turned away from the line of suitors to grab another mug of ale.

"I can't do it." He said gasping for air after he surfaced from the mug of ale. "I can't... I can't even breath." He said clutching his chest.

"Well maybe thats because you keep drowning yourself in ale, Stark." Jon suggested taking the mug away from his brother. "Listen, you'll do fine, much better then the poor chap with the neck collar. Just go up there and talk to the Princess alright? Just like we rehearsed. Give her the book and take all the credit for the idea." Jon smiled drinking from Robb's goblet. "Go on, you'll be fine."

"Fine he may be," The blond said with a smile "But he isn't any match for Renly Baratheon."

"Please." Æsc said. "Renly Baratheon would rather marry you then that Princess. Even if he won the tourney, he'd polity decline her hand and go snog you behind the tents." The boy across from them glared and stood as if to threaten the larger boy to a duel. but Æsc was on his feet just as quickly. "Go on Knight of the Flowers, hit me with your glove, lets start the Tourney a day early!"

"Æsc!" Jon cut in grabbing the boy's arm, Sam meanwhile looked at the more terrified, his eyes darting to every exit, while Robb snuck an other beer. "This is not the time, nor place! You'll see him in the ring soon enough!"

Æsc pulled his arm from Jon's grip and nodded "Yes. A fight without honor, as that would have been, is not a fight at all, but two _boys_ rolling around in the mud." He sat back down with great force and the blonde Knight of the Flowers winkled his nose and stalked off toward Renly Baratheon.

"What are you doing!" Jon almost shouted as he turned back to his brother, watching him gulp down more liquor.

"Getting drunk, Snow." Robb replied and Jon wrenched a mug from his grip with a glare.

"You want to meet the king smelling like ale and piss? No!" Jon said standing his brother up and straitening his doublet. "Go and impress the Princess of Gondor... Now!" And Robb nodded, taking the satin wrapped book with him and started toward the High Table. Jon let out a sigh of relief.

"Wow." Sam said when he sat back down. "Your brother seems incredibly nervous. Why aren't you competing in the tourney, Jon?" Jon looked down and scratched Ghost and Grey Wind behind the ears before answering.

"Because I can't." He said finally watching his brother hand the book over to the Princess. "I'm naught but a bastard. And have no title, so I can not compete for her hand."

"Then let us give you a title!" Æsc exclaimed slamming his mug down "What do you say Sam? Huh? A proper title for a proper knight!"

Jon smiled sadly "I am no knight."

The Rider snorted and said "You are brave, standing up to Lores Tyrell like that, and me for that matter. You are strong, I've talked with your brothers about it. And you have showed more honor then most of the men here. Then Tyrell for sure. Seven Hells, even me! Now if that does not make you worthy of a Knight I don't know what does." Jon rolled his eyes as Æsc stood and raise a hand, placing it upon Jon's shoulder. "From hereon, your shall be known as Lord Snow, a bastard worthy of a Princess's hand."

"You're drunk Æsc." Jon said pulling his friend back into his seat before turning to watch his brother and the Princess again. Princess Lindânâ was speaking to Robb who suddenly turned and looked at Jon for help. Jon shrugged, completely unaware of what he'd been asked.

"I'm sorry, my Princess." Robb said after making a few gapping faces like a drowning fish. "It would not be appropriate."

Princess Lindânâ stood, pushing back her chair with a loud noise. "That is quiet alright Robb Stark." She said looking back at Jon. "You," She said pointing to him, "Will you dance with me?"

The hall had become very silent, Jon realized. No one was talking anymore, not the courtiers or the knights or even the serving girl. No, everyone was busily looking at _him_. At Borimir's bastard. The bastard of Winterfell. Jon felt his chest tighten considerably as Æsc clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him forward. He tired to remember all the stupid edict things Lady Catelyn had tired to teach him, about when it was alright to refuse royalty and when it was not. He couldn't think of any of her situations that included when a Princess asked you to dance.

The Princess didn't wait for his response, she descended the steps to the High Table and came to stand before him. He understood what Æsc had meant when he said she had a face that would launch a thousand ships. She wasn't much shorter then him, but he felt small in comparison. She had an air of command that he'd never experienced in a woman, even those of noble birth. She eyes were a liquid blue, that searched his face of any sign of hesitation, any weakness. She was beautiful, flawless skin and dark hair that looked like ink itself. He could see her father in her, and her mother too. The mother who was standing at the high table, eyes boring into Jon's forehead as if it would stop him from accepting her daughters offer.

"Yes, princess." He whisper after a moment, figuring it was the safest decision.

"And your name ser?" She asked and before Jon could reply to tell her he was just a bastard, Æsc cut in announcing that he was 'Lord Snow'. Jon turned away from the princess for a brief moment to glare at his friends, before the princess pulled him onto the the cleared space of floor.

"What shall we dance to Lord Snow?" She asked him.

"I... uh... You can pick." He said with an uncomfortably smile. While she turned away Jon looked toward his brother for help but found that Robb was smirking at him from Jon's old seat next to Sam and Æsc, all three of which were having a roaring time laughing at Jon's predicament.

"Can you dance a volta?" She asked and Jon nodded "Then that is what we shall dance too. Musicians, play us a volta please." Jon could hear the muttering in the crowd as the music started. Jon remembered when their Septa taught Robb and him the volta. He'd thought it was a bunch of stupid head jerks and fancy wrist flicks. Now, he was glad that the Septa had made him learn the stupid head jerks and wrist flicks. He could tell it was the princess's favorite dance when they started the stupid leap jumps, he was a little afraid that he looked like a clumsy goose next to her graceful movements. When he looked over at Robb he could tell from the look on his brother's face that he didn't look like a clumsy goose, and he was proud of it. Robb was the graceful one on the dancefloor, Jon was just the bastard.

When they got to the part where Jon was suppose to pick the princess up, and twirl her around, Jon was a little afraid that The Queen's wrath would strike him down once he put a hand on her daughter. But thankfully he was still alive when he set the princess down at the end of the dance. Jon finally let out the breath he'd been holding.

Princess Lindânâ smiled happily at him and touched his face. "You dance well." She whispered "Thank you." Jon nodded to her and felt the light touch of a smile on his lips.

"Thank you, your Grace." He said bowing to her before turning away and hurriedly crossing to where his brother sat. "Gods above." He said as he grabbed up Robb's goblet. "I've never been so scared in my whole life." He muttered as Æsc put down this own goblet and smiled happily.

"I think I'll ask the Princess to dance myself." He announced and started out onto the floor to catch the princess before she walked back up the High Table.

Jon let out a long sign as he watch the Rider lead the princess back onto the floor. "He has balls." Jon announced.

"You were ever so brave Jon." Sam said "I would have been too scared to say anything." Jon smiled and clapped him on the back.

"You could be brave too Sam." He said as a serving girl poured them both more wine. "Just go talk to the princess. She's just a person, y'know." Sam snorted and the pair jested at each other about a princess being a normal person.

"Jon, look." Robb said pointing over the heads of the other nobles as Arya ran off "Look at your sister." Sansa was currently dancing with some smug looking blond princeling and looked like the happiest girl on the face of the earth.

Jon scoffed "She'll be talking about that boy for the rest of the week now."

Robb nodded unhappily "That's Joffery Baratheon. From Hyarmen. I dislike that boy every much. He's not even of age. I wonder why he is here."

"Practice?" Jon suggested "Some day he'll have to fight with older more experienced boys to win the hand of a princess."

"I suppose you're lucky you'll never have to then, right Snow?" Robb laughed clapping him on the back with a smile. Jon smiled back uneasily before looking back out over the crowd of people. He didn't belong here anymore then Robb did. Neither of them were princes. Neither of them had proven themselves. And yet, the princess had picked _him_ out of a crowed banquet hall. Why? And why did it matter to Jon so much? Those answers would surely be found at the bottom of his newly filled goblet, right?


End file.
